I shouldn’t take it personally.
“Can you hand me the stapler?” mumbles Elijah, reaching out his hand.
Distractedly, I hand it to him, my eyes like needles as they stay glued to the glass windows that reveal the three interns and five employees around the round table in that office, Benjamin circling them slowly as he addresses them. Every now and then, he’ll stroll up to his dry erase board to squiggle out an image or jot something down. Even from all the way across the room, I can recognize the very specific way in which his butt wiggles as he writes on that board. It fills me with a mixture of longing and frustration.
I came to Gage Communications with the purpose of gaining traction in my career, impressing someone who could potentially make or break me, and soaking in all the brilliance like a big, soft, collegiate sponge.
I didn’t come here for a boyfriend. Or a lover. Or him.
Yet all of my priorities seem to have shifted overnight. When I come into work, I go through the motions like a choreographed routine I’ve rehearsed fifty-seven times. I give the boss as much attention as I would an out-of-place paperclip on a desk. I do my good work, but expect nothing for it and expect nothing to come from it.
Because all of my thoughts begin and end with Benjamin Gage and when we’ll get to be alone again.
Benjamin Gage, whose soul I dived into last night.
Benjamin Gage, who took me on an adventure that split me wide open and made me face both my fears and my joys.
Benjamin Gage, the man who’s supposed to be my boss. The man who’s totally in a meeting right the heck now with three of your fellow peers—and not you.
Don’t be a jealous little kumquat, Trevor.
“Alright, I’m callin’ it,” says Elijah.
I jolt out of my thoughts, then turn to him. “Calling what?”
“You. On your shit.” Elijah hands the stapler back to me by slapping it onto my palm, earning an “Ow!” from me. “We’re hittin’ the corner store pizzeria after work. You and I are gonna talk.”
I frown. “What’d I do now? Leave the toilet seat up?”
“Or stay out past two in the freakin’ morning?” Elijah squints at me like a scolding father. “Ring any bells?”
I sigh, already over it. “Elijah, you were the one who told me I needed to loosen up. You pushed me to go clubbing with you. You told me to get laid. You said—”
“Tonight,” clips Elijah, cutting me off, then swipes his laptop off the desk and struts away without another word.
No, my day doesn’t get any better after that. Why would it?
It’s almost time to go, and I’m stretched like a tree in the supply closet, reaching for the top shelf (unsuccessfully) when a tall shadow eclipses the light.
“Sorry,” I mumble to whoever it is behind me. “Just trying to get the damned box of envelopes back here. One more second.”
“Trevor.”
The voice catches me off-guard. I stop stretching and turn. The tall cold glass of water named Brady stands there, his bright blond hair sitting perfectly styled on his stiff, half-tilted head. He stares me down with two annoyingly sexy, frigid eyes.
“Brady,” I clip back for a greeting. “You need something? And if not, can you help me get these envelopes? I really don’t want to pull out a stepladder. That’s just humiliating.”
“Humiliating.” Brady snorts. “Now that’s an interesting word.”
I face him, confused. I have no idea where all this hetero sass is coming from. “What do you mean?”
He takes a step forward. Considering how small this closet is and how close he already was, he’s more than invading my bubble, which I might have one day welcomed in an entirely different context, but not right now.
“Let’s talk about humiliation,” he says, eyes narrowing.
That’s an odd way to lead an attack. I feel like he’s about to pull down my pants and give me an atomic wedgie on this supply rack. Instantly, I’m in high school again being cornered by a bully.
A sexy bully who’s staring me down right now. “Humiliation,” he repeats, “like the fact that, if boss man wasn’t so distracted by your dumb act, and if our supervisor wasn’t so easy to charm, then I wouldn’t feel like the ignored cat scratching at their back door.”
Uh, what? “I’m … not following.”
“I’m not the kind of guy who gets ignored,” Brady states, his voice steely and his eyes like two pools of molten silver. “When I’m in the office, the supers look my way. Right now, the only thing either of them seem to be seeing is you.”
My mouth just hangs open, unsure what to say to that. There are about a hundred thoughts racing around my head right now, like if Benjamin himself said something, or if there’s a rumor or two making the rounds, or if my own behavior has given anything away. All of these thoughts render me paralyzed.